


and then you

by Mariss95



Series: In another life [15]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Mayor Oliver Queen, OlicityHiatusFic, Paramedic - Freeform, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 09:39:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11415219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mariss95/pseuds/Mariss95
Summary: A fateful Friday night and an unintentional discovery that will change everything.[paramedic x mayor queen au]





	and then you

**Author's Note:**

> au. paramedic x mayor queen  
> written for the olicity hiatus fic-a-thon | prompt: unintentional discovery  
> inspired by [this post](http://releaseurinhibitions.tumblr.com/post/159408409801/queenpartyoftwo-hope-for-olicity)  
> [[tumblr post](http://releaseurinhibitions.tumblr.com/post/162653481167/and-then-you)]

This is not exactly how she imagined spending her Friday night.

Felicity Smoak was really looking forward to getting through the last hour of her shift, driving home and washing the smell of blood from her hair –that somehow always impregnated like every pore in her body–, downing a good glass of wine and maybe indulging herself in some mindless thing from her Netflix watch-list.

But somehow, as usual, she's managed to fuck everything up.

Okay in all fairness it's not one hundred percent _her_ fault, and this time her outburst of words did less damage than her actions and her thoughts, surprisingly. But still, what she wouldn't give to rewind and keep living in oblivion instead of having to face with the actual leather-clad vigilante in her living room.

One could argue that it all started with the distress call that was assigned to her and Curtis's ambulance. One that proved to stand out from others when pulling onto that street they found not only what looked like half of the SCPD force closing the scene, but a huge crowd that looked more interested than terrified.

"This is new," she'd muttered as they came to a stop and jumped out, struggling to make sense of it all. In the four months she's been living and working in Starling City, she's come to learn their citizens had gone to hell and back –seriously, how many strange attacks can a single small place face yearly?–, so seeing such a commotion for what looked like a minor car collision was rare.

But as they made their way over, the mildly annoyed looking Captain Quentin Lance shed some light to the event.

"It's the Mayor."

"Oh," she'd said, vividly remembering Starling City's newly appointed Mayor, Oliver Queen. Primarily because it's been the hottest topic in the news from even before she'd signed her lease here. But also because the enigmatic Mr. Queen appears to be virtually a one-eighty from everything you'd expect from a politician.

Gentle, nice, apologetic, humble. His spoken words in speeches and conferences alike have always sounded surprisingly genuine to her ears, refreshing, laden with meaning and intent; and more often than not turned into actions. And yes, on top of all, he looks like _that_ ; resembling more a model you'd see stamped on the cover of GQ instead of Time magazine.

Yet he's been on both.

And leaning against his slightly bumped dark Bentley he'd looked just as good, minutely distracting her from the scene around them.

"Damn. Paul will not believe this," Curtis said by her side, showing how normal it apparently was to be taken aback by Oliver Queen. Captain Lance however, seemed just miffed at the whole thing, trying to rush the process and get everything sorted out, it seemed, as he gestured their way, nodding towards Queen and who seemed to be his driver and bodyguard. "Will you take him?" Curtis added hastily. "Queen. I don't trust not to make a fool of myself in front of him. And I'd very much like the first time I shake his hand not to be trembling and installing the fear that I can't do my job properly."

"Oh, so you trust _me_ not to verbally vomit all over him?" she teased, sighing at the pleading look on her partner's eyes. She'd known of the helpless crush Curtis had been harbouring for years for the playboy billionaire turned upstanding man of the law, so with a "you owe me one", she'd walked to a meeting that, unbeknownst to her, would change everything.

She flashed her credentials to the uniforms surrounding the vehicle, and made her way to Mayor Oliver Queen who, as polite as ever, smiled at her despite the significant cut at the top of his forehead.

"Thank you for your assistance, but I was just telling Captain Lance it's not necessary."

Oh. _What?_

"You're bleeding. And seem to have hit your head pretty hard to do so. So I reckon I've gotta check you out. Not _you,_ like checking _you_ out, but your injuries, 'cause I'm the paramedic. And definitely not a speech writer, as you can see. Or hear really."

Yup, thirty seconds in his presence and she was already blushing and closing her eyes in regret.

But surprisingly he laughed and, in a move that would've left her breathless were she not already taken by how insanely good looking he was, he turned on the charm. Purposely.

"And I thank you for your service to the city. But I'm sure it's just a shallow cut, nothing my personal physician can't handle. I'm heading there as soon as Captain Lance clears the way. So thank you, really…" he said, hand outstretched to meet hers.

"Felicity. Smoak," she let out, shaking his hand and sizing him up.

It was a good play, and she could've fallen for it, were it not for the wince he almost succeeded in suppressing when she lightly tugged on his hand.

"Well Mr. Queen, my service to this city includes a protocol. A basic check-up of your motor skills and open wounds is a must. So why don't you come with me to the ambulance to get to it?"

He paused, a glint in his deep blue eyes showing surprise, his lips pressing together in a tight line at her raised eyebrow and tilted head that clearly said 'I'm not budging'. So with a final glance back to his bodyguard, who was being looked over by Curtis, Oliver Queen nodded and followed her trail.

* * *

From then on it'd almost been business as usual.

He sat on the edge of the open back of their ride, politely refusing the gurney or help from her offered hand. And with short, measured sentences, he answered every question thrown his way.

The way he was fidgeting could pass as normal, surely wanting to go home and put an end to a particularly annoying day. She's used to dealing with that, so she could've completely brush it off were it not for the side glances he kept directing her way, tentative, curious, and the tilt up in the last word of some sentences uttered that she easily learned were a tail tale for him lying.

And that wouldn't be bothersome had they been related to the barely-there accident that seemed to be a car lightly bumping his at an intersection. Not having a seat belt on could had easily caused the small laceration on his forehead she was softly tending to. But the muscle spasms and the way he seemed to be favouring his right side told a different story.

"Are you sure you don't want to lie down? I work almost as fast as I talk, so you'll be out and about in a second. Well more like five to ten minutes, but you get the point."

And there it was again, that warm smile that completely confused her and probably proved to be as effective as he intended it to be.

"Positive," he said, trying to sound assertive yet taking her in.

That could've been it. She could've followed his words, clearly wanting an out of the situation for whatever reason, and called it a night. A stern recommendation for a more whole-some check out was all she could've let him off the hook with, since a concussion didn't seem to be on the cards for him. But there was still something there, in the rubbing motion of the fingers of his left hand, and the tight hold of his shoulders that kept him uptight and alert.

And then, in a move that effectively shattered any chance of closure for the whole ordeal, she looked at his stomach.

Not like _that_. Professionally.

And in her professional opinion, she saw a significant crimson stain on his crisp white shirt.

"You're bleeding," she gasped, raising her sight to his accusatorially. Alarm tainted his deep gaze, his body ready to leap into action, unanswered questions and a quick getaway seemingly being his go-to mode in his personal life.

Yet just as a feeble excuse was leaving his lips, she pressed a determined hand lightly onto his chest, halting his movement and, meeting his eyes straight on, said with all seriousness.

"If you let me take a look at that, I won't make a big deal of it. No reinforces or alarms raised, just me. I promise."

In that moment she'd guessed his reluctance to be vulnerable or hurt in any way may had something to do with the growing crowds peeking into the scene, or the local news stations settling in to report and twist an angle into this whole thing. Her promise was meant to be reassuring of his privacy and her part in it, trying to make both of their jobs easier. Him tended to, her mind at ease.

Little did she know that when he nodded his consent, his piercing blue eyes grateful and vulnerable on hers, she'd open a can of worms neither could do much to suppress with time.

Checking that the door covered them from the cameras' views, she nodded towards his bleeding side. And, as he sighed deeply, letting a grimace finally overtake his palliative smiles, he pulled the left side of his suit jacket away from the stained shirt.

Fresh blood had seeped through, yet didn't seem to keep flowing anymore. She slowly reached out, her eyes meeting his asking for permission he granted with a brief nod, and gently prodded the area over the damp cloth. It was tender and warm, his deep, measured breaths clear under her touch.

"I need to have a look. Can you…?" she said, gesturing to his torso. He seemed reluctant, breath catching at his throat at the idea. And he took a moment, really looking at her, mentally assessing her reliability, she'd guess. Something must have convinced him, for he proceeded to undo the last few buttons and softly peel the shirt upwards.

And there, to the left side of navel, a distinctive wound stood out.

Nothing stuck from it, no shard of glass protruding, potentially from the vehicles colliding. The shape was neither cut-like nor bullet-size. And what stood most of all, for as red as swollen the area was, it wasn't as fresh as this accident; tentative stitches stood out against his tan skin, a few obviously torn down, having bled through.

Her fingers brushed over the tender skin, mapping the wound's sharp and unusual edges, taking note as well of the colourful bruises painting his skin upwards. Something about it looked oddly familiar, her brain swiftly flipping through recent patients and injuries tended to.

A gasp left her lips at the realisation.

An arrow. Its puncture sharp and deep, focused and unique in its kind. One she'd witnessed and grown somewhat used to ever since her transfer here. Her touch froze over his skin at the thought.

Only two kinds of people produced that kind of wound. Starling's beloved vigilante in green and, his most recent and seemingly villainous counterpart, the Dark Archer.

Both had made local headlines for as long as she recalled, most recently at the appropriately named 'justice showdown' merely two days before. And only one of them had very publicly been stabbed with a black arrow before fleeing the scene.

"Green Arrow," she'd whispered as every piece fell into place.

Oliver tensed at the sound, his blue eyes shocked and panicked when she lifted her sight to his face.

"Smoak!" Captain Lance called for her from across the van, shaking her awake of the troubling daze they were just in. Just that moment, where her sight flicked away to take in the Captain's directions to wrap it up and get it moving, out of the press sight and crowd alike. Just a second before she focused back on him, and he was gone.

Her hand hanged mid-air, Oliver Queen nowhere in sight.

" _Frack_."

* * *

She went through the motions. Disposed what was used, tidied the mess away, took down notes on what'd happened.

At least the part of it pertinent to her job there.

Before long Curtis made it back, having cleared the driver, and she shrugged his questions about the Mayor's whereabouts, her mind still processing what she knew. When their shift came to an end, she said her goodbyes as usual and drove home, the self-promised glass of wine badly needed.

And she was just getting to that, having taken a single sip of the not-as-alcoholic-as-needed drink, when he appeared.

"Oh god," she lets out at the silhouette coming out of the shadows.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Felicity," the shadow says, affirming so by lifting both his free hands; the bow and quiver with arrows safely strapped onto his back.

"I know. I may be new here, but I've read the news, the stories online…" she trails off, recalling the blogs from grateful Starling citizens sharing their experiences with the vigilante. Without profit or sensationalist intent in the midst, she trusted those hundreds of voices more than any flashy headline that went back and forth between fear and praise. "You do good… in your own way."

Silence. Pensive, tentative. He stands still in place, letting her take the lead, of what she's not sure. So, in true Felicity fashion, she does the odd thing that comes to mind.

"Wine?"

His surprise's shown in a breath of air that sounds closer to laughter that she would've expected. Then he shakes his head, hesitatingly taking a step forward as she takes a sip from her glass, contemplating what's next.

"Oh! Your wound!" she recalls, jumping on the spot. And, lowering her drink on a counter nearby, wastes no time rushing through her apartment, grabbing the first aid kit then walking purposely back to him. Only to find the Green Arrow frozen still in her living room.

"Go on, take a seat," she says, gesturing to the couch by their side. He takes a moment, then two, really taking her in as he'd done before, and then sighs and lowers himself in place.

She's distracted enough by setting everything to work next that she barely takes in the nervousness in his posture, the tense way he's still holding himself. Better than at the ambulance, yet holding back. It's not until she's kneeling besides him, having snapped on the gloves and arranged the tools needed on the small table within reach, that she really looks into his eyes.

The hood's up, darkening his face almost completely, just the tail tale shadowed jaw and thin lips pursed in deep thought peeking through. Ones that relax just slightly once he nods at her, a globed hand reaching up to unveil his whole face.

Meeting his deep blue eyes again she nods at him once more, taking in the world of contradictions swimming in them. Gratefulness mixed with apprehension, and a most recognisable exhaustion she files as the reason for his reaching out for her.

His real identity notwithstanding, she's going to help him, and focuses on doing just so when he does away with his green leather jacket, leaving his skin exposed.

Under the dim lights of the room, her hesitant touch grows confident as she works on repairing the torn stitches.

"These are okay. Where did you get them done?" she ventures to say once the quiet around them grows too heavy. Though he's substantially relaxed under her hand, so much still hangs in the air between them. He takes a moment, then two, fingers rubbing together again showing his struggle.

"My partner," he finally admits. Shallow enough, harmless, as a few equally hooded helpers have made it on the news with him from time to time.

"Well, he or she is good enough. I hope they've got the training to keep an eye on this. Equipment, and such. Considering this is an occupational hazard and what not. Vigilante-wise, not politics basics. Thought there are more than a few that could use a menacing arrow or two. Not _you_ , you are more than exempt," she says, vaguely gesturing his way.

He hums, a deep sound reverberating against her touch. Silence overtakes them once again, so much that she thinks this is as far as he's willing to open up to her. Being a virtual stranger, she'd understand. Still, as soon as she chirps a "Done! Good as new," discarding her gloves and such to a baggie by her side, she feels his touch on her arm. Warm, light, getting her attention instead of asserting his presence.

"Thank you, Felicity," his velvety voice says, charged with everything he's been holding back.

"Anytime," she finds herself saying, and meaning completely; the next words out of her lips as weighty as the sincere and open look on his face. "And I still mean it. My promise. This stays with me."

A pregnant pause gives place for everything this moment entails to sink in with them both, before he's nodding his gratefulness again, his fingers gently squeezing her forearm, making her hold her breath.

And there, kneeling on her living room floor she watches Oliver Queen hood up, walk to the window and, with a final look her way, flash her the most honest and breathtaking smile she's ever seen on his face to date.

And just like that, her life of being Green Arrow's personal physician begun. It isn't long before the role of partner, in every sense of the way, makes the list as well. And just a year for the last name Queen to follow her own.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!  
> please leave kudos and comment :)
> 
> tumblr: /releaseurinhibitions


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